


Empty Glasses

by misura



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the cask of 502.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Glasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic/gifts).



> TLoLL mentions several heists that sounded like fun to try and flesh out a bit more - I opted for the one mentioned on page 102: the cask of super rare, super expensive 502 that was won from an eccentric noble in a card game at the cost of nearly eight hundred crowns, mostly due to the need to buy off the assassins the old man sent after them.
> 
> needless to say, it is my fond hope that this fic will get labeled as an AU one day, because Mr Lynch will have written an account of this heist himself.
> 
> on a more realistic note: I hope you'll enjoy this (slightly alcoholic) treat.

"By all appearances, it would seem our assassins are late," said Galdo.

"Which seems rather impolite of them, but then, who feels compelled to show good manners to dead people nowadays anymore?" Calo tsked. "Young people."

"Until we've seen utterly convincing evidence to the contrary, I believe we'd best not indulge in any wishful thinking and just assume the fuckers are being less than punctual," said Locke, studying their surroundings with a frown.

 

"Locke, has it ever occured to you that maybe we're going a bit overboard on this one?" Galdo had asked, less than two weeks before. "I don't mean to criticize, of course."

"Merely to offer a constructive comment," said Calo. "Any criticism implied therein is mere happy coincidence. An unlooked-for bonus."

"And of course, we understand all these elaborate preparations help keep your mind off of other things."

"Things and, I should add, people."

"Naming no names," said Galdo.

"The very souls of tact and discretion, that's us."

Jean looked up from his packing, a small volume of poetry in his hand.

"Call me overly detail-oriented, but I'd prefer not to blow our game at the second touch by offering up some inferior brew that any idiot with enough money would have been able to get," said Locke. "We have to offer them something impressive. Something that will prove our credentials to them without even a shadow of a shadow of a doubt remaining. In short, we need a 502."

"I suppose it will be nice to get to catch up on some reading," said Jean.

"That's the spirit."

 

"I still think we should unleash Jean on them."

"There's only going to be - what? Four or five of them? He'll have them outnumbered. Easily."

"Children," said Locke. "Violence is used only as a last resort by those lacking the wits to come up with a plan. Let's try talking to them first."

"You're going to ask them nicely not to kill us? As far as plans go, that one somehow fails to dazzle with its brilliance."

"I'll bring along some friends to convince them," said Locke, holding up a well-filled purse. "And Jean."

"And I'll be bringing two lovely ladies."

"Still not dazzled, but I suppose even you can't be brilliant all the time."

 

Calo flopped down on the bed in the room he shared with Galdo. "Clearly, the old goat cheats."

"He's rather obvious about it, too." Galdo picked up a deck and started shuffling it single-handedly.

"Rather like you two, in other words," said Jean.

"I find that a very hurtful comment. For one thing, we don't giggle."

"Or smell like old cheese. Of very poor quality. That's come out of the wrong side of a dog."

"We're quite popular with the ladies as well. Provided they are in possession of good taste and not black alchemists, but then, it's impossible to please everyone."

"Although we consider it our duty to try, of course."

"The problem isn't that he cheats," said Locke. "The problem is that he's extremely bad at it. Everybody knows he's doing it, yet nobody dares say anything, as doing so will likely get them thrown out of the game and, shortly after, the estate. Needless to say, the same goes for people who win too often."

Calo sighed. "Where's an honest man or woman when you need one?"

"We might get away with outright theft," said Jean. "I know it wasn't the original plan and it's not quite the way we usually operate, but ... "

Locke shook his head. "We can't risk it. People will _talk_ about something like that - and we can't very well lift a cask of 502 along with a bunch of other stuff and hope he won't notice. That cask's probably the single most valuable thing here - it may very well be worth more than all the other stuff in the mansion put together."

"Make that _definitely_. And twice as much, at least. I'd be surprised if even a single painting or piece of furniture in this house was what we're supposed to believe it is." Galdo grimaced.

"And he won't simply sell the bloody thing," said Locke. "I asked. Or, well, several highly respectable and a few not so respectable people did. They were all turned down very firmly."

"Then again, it's not as if Galdo and I can't outcheat him," said Calo.

"You'll probably only get one chance. One game."

"When have we ever needed more?"

"A rhetorical question, it goes without saying."

"Good," said Locke, "because this bloody well isn't the moment for a trip down memory lane."

 

"Just out of curiosity," Jean asked Locke, "how much do you think our lives are currently worth?"

"Well, let me put it this way: if it's more than seven hundred crowns, I might have to ask them to accept a promissory note."

Jean nodded once and briefly touched the Wicked Sisters. "A fair chance we'll make it out of here alive, then."

"Oh, I'd say our chances are more than fair," said Locke, "given the state of their employer's finances."

 

The mansion's library was small but well-stocked, Jean had been pleased to discover. With Locke and the Sanzas occupied playing - or observing as other people played, there was little for him to do but wander about idly, waiting until either his particular set of skills was needed, or the time had come to depart. Jean did not particulary care which scenario would play out; he knew himself equal to either.

None of the volumes in the library were particularly rare or valuable. His perusal of this particular part of the mansion was, therefore, motivated purely by curiosity and a fond hope that somewhere on the shelves might be found something unfamiliar worth reading.

Thus, the discovery of a small vault filled with various valuables came as a complete and utterly unlooked for happy surprise.

 

"You're rather trusting, aren't you?"

There were six of them - one more than Galdo had speculated. Four men, two women.

Locke spread his hands. "I could say the same of you and your friends. I mean, how do you know we didn't invite you here to kill you? Other than our trustworthy faces, of course."

"There's six of us," said one of the women. "Two of you."

"Ah." Locke smiled. "I'm afraid mathematics was never one of my strengths. My friend here, on the other hand - well. He's _very_ good with numbers."

 

"The goal, my dear Calo, is to depart from here with a cask of extremely valuable liquor."

Jean said nothing. He had informed the others of his find, after removing any and all traces of his presence from the vault, the lock of which had been ridiculously easy to pick.

Probably, the valuables were best protected by the unlikeliness of their presence and location, rather than by any deviously complicated mechanism.

"If we were to also relieve the mansion's owner from what remains of his family fortune, I fear he might take it rather badly. Or, well, more badly than he would the mere loss of his precious cask," amended Locke. "I'd prefer to leave this place chased by nothing more substantial than a few dark looks, if at all possible. On the other hand, a man with no money might be somewhat - ah, let us say _limited_ in his options for a while. Presumably, there is a key?"

"There might be multiple copies. I could find out," said Jean.

Locke shook his head. "No. We'll just ruin the lock. Even if they send for a locksmith right away, it should be at least three days before anyone gets here. That's long enough for our purpose."

"Not if he's the kind of fellow to hold a grudge," said Calo.

"Or a sore loser," said Galdo.

"In three days, we'll be halfway back to Camorr, and well out of immediate reach. What's he going to do? Put up a public notice someone's beaten him at his own game?"

 

"You have an offer?" One of the men, this time. "If so, let's hear it."

"I have an offer," said Locke. "A very ah generous one, if I may say so. My own employer is, after all, a wealthy woman. A _very_ wealthy woman. Naturally, discretion forbids me to mention her name."

 

"Either this is the one town where someone is willing to kill a fellow over a cask of small beer, or someone wants us dead." Caldo ran his hands over the cask of 502, currently relabeled as something far less glamorous, to make sure it was as unharmed as Galo, or more so, possibly, given that Galo was nursing a black eye and various scrapes and bruises.

Locke sighed. He had not yet decided if Galo had been incredibly lucky, or if his would-be killer had simply been ludicrously inept. The man had fled the moment Caldo had arrived on the scene, making it impossible to ask him. "I take you two haven't played cards with anyone?"

"Please."

"We do have _some_ standards, you know."

"Besides, what would people put up by way of stakes here? A chicken?"

Jean looked up. "I could make a decent meal with a chicken and what I brought with me."

"Let's focus on the important thing here," said Locke. "Which is, simply put, that I fucked up."

A moment's silence greeted this statement.

"I fucked up," repeated Locke. "I admit it freely."

"Should we open the cask?" wondered Calo. "To commemorate a historic event such as this?"

"It seems almost sacrilegious not to." Galdo made a gesture as if he was about to translate his words into action.

Locke scowled.

"Do you think we should go back?" Jean asked. "If they follow us all the way to Camorr, that might get tricky. People might wonder what we've done to deserve that kind of effort."

The odds of any hired killer, no matter how well-paid, following a man into Camorr when he was not from there were, Locke knew, vanishingly small.

"I think," said Locke, "that we should attempt to reach an understanding."

 

"Double what he's paying you," said Locke. "You can tell him we're dead, or simply abscond with your fees; I don't care which. I simply can't be bothered to have you people follow us around, making a nuisance of yourselves. Take it or leave it. Just be warned that, if you pick the second option, I shall consider myself free to solve the ... problem you pose in some other, more economic, less elegant manner. I need not elaborate, I'm sure. After all, we're all reasonable, intelligent people here, aren't we? There's no need for crude threats."

"No need for threats, he says." Another man. Locke wondered if he was negotiating with an organized group, meaning he'd only have to convince their leader, or a group of individuals, meaning they'd likely take a while to decide.

"Collecting a triple fee without risking life and limb sounds pretty good to me." The woman, again.

"If it helps, we have no intention of ever visiting this particular corner of the world again." Not under their current names, anyway.

Jean stood quiet next to him, hands loosely hanging by his side. Locke maintained his aura of mild-put-uponness; a man slightly vexed, but hardly concerned.

"Fine," said the man who had spoken before. "Twelve hundred crowns."

Jean's stance shifted ever so slightly.

Locke swallowed once, then put a sneer on his face. "Which part of 'take it or leave it' was unclear to you? Should I have used even smaller words?"

"Six," said the second woman. "He paid us three hundred crowns - fifty each."

Locke beamed at her. "Marvelous. Someone who can count _and_ has a keen understanding of language. A pleasure to meet you, madam."

She shrugged. "Given you're about to triple my money, I suppose I can say the same without overly bending the truth."

 

"Will Bug have missed us very much, you think?"

"Given how badly we spoil him, I can't imagine otherwise."

Caldo sighed. "Probably shamefully neglected his moral education these past days, with us not around."


End file.
